Rating:

Not Rated

Archive Warning:

No Archive Warnings Apply

Category:

M/M

Fandoms:

Heated Rivalry (TV), Game Changers Series - Rachel Reid

Relationship:

Shane Hollander/Ilya Rozanov

Characters:

Shane Hollander, Ilya Rozanov, Svetlana Vetrova

Additional Tags:

Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Post-Break Up, No Smut, Yearning, actual communication, What if Shane went to therapy, And Ilya spent two years yearning, But then everything was fine

Language:

English

Collections:

Anonymous

Stats:

Published: 2026-02-01 Words: 8,003 Chapters: 1/1

come to my cottage (two summers from now)

Summary

Shane doesn’t get injured, and Ilya ends the relationship. He spends two years regretting it. Shane goes to therapy.

Notes

April 2017

Ilya had been thinking about what he was going to say to Shane all day. Actually, that was a lie. He had been thinking about it for weeks. He was nowhere close to an answer when his cab pulled up to Shane’s apartment building. He punched in the door code and strode over to the elevator.

Shane opened the door with that look he always had, and the second the door closed behind Ilya, pushed him against the wall, kissing him hungrily. Ilya responded because he couldn’t help himself. They stumbled through the apartment towards the bedroom before Ilya forced himself to pull away.

“Hollander – Shane. I think we need to talk, before…” Ilya gestured vaguely between them. “I need to talk to you.”

“Oh, okay.” Shane clearly hadn’t been expecting this, but he didn’t seem too phased. “What do you want to talk about? Shall we sit?”

They sat awkwardly on the bed.

Ilya cleared his throat. “I want you to know that this is not what I want to be doing right now,” he admitted. “But I came here to tell you that… I think we should end this.”

Shane drew in a sharp breath. “You… what?”

“I –” Fuck. Ilya already felt like he was going about this the wrong way, kissing Shane breathless for God knows how long and then jumping straight into it like that. “You were right, in Florida. Things have been different, since I don’t know when. But also they haven’t. We are still just…” He searched for the right words. “Borrowing time. I think this is going to hurt us, eventually, maybe soon.”

Shane looked dumbfounded. “But this isn’t hurting me. I don’t want it to end.”

“You want to keep doing this forever?”

“I don’t… forever is a long time.” Shane looked a bit freaked out. “I don’t know. But right now, I don’t want anything else.” His voice shifted, smaller: “Do you?”

“No,” said Ilya, a little more forcefully than he intended. He sighed. “But maybe… I want more than this. And I can’t have it. We can’t have it.”

Shane looked down at where his hands were twisted together in his lap. His voice came out small again. “Couldn’t this be enough for you?”

Ilya wanted to scream. He was so weak when it came to Shane that yes, probably, he would take it, he would try to make it be enough for him. Maybe even forever, even though Shane was right, forever is a long time. But he also knew on some level that it would destroy them both, slowly, from the inside. He couldn’t be in love with Shane and only have this, sneaking around, meeting after games, without it killing him.

“You deserve to be something with someone,” was all he said out loud.

“We are something,” Shane insisted. “Even if it’s not…” He trailed off.

“No we are not,” Ilya snapped. “You could be something with Rose Landry. That is something. Not this.” He tried to say her name like he could be normal about it. He wasn’t sure he succeeded.

“She broke up with me because I’m gay,” Shane said, exasperated. “She’s a good friend and I enjoyed spending time with her, but it was not what I wanted!”

“No, maybe not,” Ilya countered, getting angry for no reason. “But it was nice, yes? To go out in public? For your friends and family to know about your girlfriend?”

“Maybe?” Shane looked annoyed. “But I don’t want to do that with her, or with anyone. I want that with you. And if we can’t have that…”

Then what, thought Ilya bitterly. We both live half a life? He could feel himself getting more annoyed and upset. He had expected this to be a difficult conversation, for Shane to argue, but he hated that it was happening, and he was worried that if Shane kept pushing, he’d take it all back and lose his nerve. “We can’t have that, Hollander.”

Shane looked more frustrated, his lips pressed tightly together, but didn’t say anything.

Ilya sighed. “I don’t think it’s a good idea to keep pretending.”

“Why not?” Shane did speak now, sternly defiant. “What about this is pretending to you?”

“It is pretending there is a future. For this.” Ilya gestured between them. “The longer we do this, the worse it will be. We can’t live off scraps.”

Shane looked like he wanted to argue, and Ilya’s thoughts flooded in to betray him, silently begging him to do just that. Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me I’m a coward. Don’t let me do this. Tell me you have a plan and I’m an idiot for not seeing how this could work.

Instead, Shane’s body language shifted and he heaved a sigh of… resignation? Ilya couldn’t quite read the emotion. “Maybe you’re right.” There was a pause as Ilya let that sink in. “I don’t want you to be,” Shane added, insistently, meeting Ilya’s eyes. “But keeping this up until we retire...” That could still be a decade away for both of them. Maybe more than that. Shane laughed sadly. “I haven’t wanted to think about what that would actually feel like.”

“Not good”, Ilya offered.

“Not good”, Shane agreed.

There was a brief silence. “I don’t like this,” Shane said.

“Me neither.”

They looked at each other sadly, but all the fight had dissipated. Shane took a deep breath and met Ilya’s eyes again. “I don’t want it to be… awkward. Between us. I really like you, Ilya. I think I always will,” – punctuated by a short laugh – “and if we’re giving this up because we want to stop pretending. Well, I don’t want to have to pretend I don’t like you.”

“Me neither Shane.” Ilya couldn’t think what to say other than repeat himself.

“So… friends?”

Shane offered out his hand to shake with a smile that acknowledged the ridiculousness of the gesture. It was too much for Ilya, the reminder of their first meeting. He suddenly wanted to cry. But he swallowed it down and took Shane’s hand and offered his own smile in return.

“Friends. Maybe. If you can still look at me after I destroy you on the ice.” He offered a smile.

Shane laughed, more genuinely this time. “It’ll be easier to like you when we beat you.” Then he swallowed. “I think, if we’re really doing this, you should probably go now, then. Not make this any harder than it has to be.”

Ilya nodded, silently cursing himself for not waiting until after they had fucked to do this. He wanted him so badly. Especially if they were never going to be like this again. But that would’ve made it harder to the point of, probably, impossibility. Stupid sensible decisions.

Ilya got up to leave. Shane walked him to the door and they hugged awkwardly. He could’ve been there a few minutes or a few hours, for all Ilya could register. He felt numb. When the door closed behind him, he let out a horrible shaky breath and tried not to cry. He had done the right thing, it was over now, but at what cost?

It wasn’t even as if it had gone badly. The conversation had actually gone better than he dared to hope. There had been anger, frustration, resistance, but not for the whole conversation, and not really directed at each other, just the situation. They seemed to be getting onto the same page. Shane had even made moves towards clearing the air, opening a door for them to be friendly, even if not friends. Why then did he feel so disappointed?

Ilya knew why. Whatever he told himself, that it would be worse the longer they left it, he was pretty sure he was already too far gone for that to be true. He had never been in love with anyone like this before. Hadn’t fully believed he was capable of it. Definitely didn’t know if it was ever going to go away, felt deep inside him that it wasn’t, at least not completely. But for Shane, he figured, it might be salvageable. That was the worst part of all of it, he was so in love it made him want to try to be selfless.

…

Summer passed boringly. Ilya didn’t go back to Russia and he didn’t go much of anywhere else. He hung out with Svetlana when she wasn’t travelling for work. They didn’t sleep together, which wasn’t that strange, they’d hung out plenty of times without doing that, but the reason Ilya wasn’t interested – wasn’t interested in sex, really, not with anyone who wasn’t Shane – felt like an elephant in the room. Sveta, sensing how it would go down, didn’t broach the subject. But she also stopped offering to set him up with anyone, and started cooking for him more, checking he was drinking enough water, generally fussing over him in a way that screamed “I am concerned about you”.

Other than that, he worked out. He went out, sometimes. Eventually returned to the occasional one night stand, but it wasn’t the same. Something about admitting I love you maybe. Or knowing that every time took him further away from his last time with Shane. Fuck.

When the season started up again, Montreal was one of their first few games. Ilya was on edge for the entire plane ride, obviously enough that Marleau asked, with genuine concern, if he needed to talk about anything. Ilya glared at him, which shut him up, but secretly appreciated it.

Shane, being Shane, went out of his way to be friendly to Ilya in the face off. Asked him how his summer had been, if he was looking forward to the new season, if he was excited for the game. Ilya did his best to respond in kind but it was unsettling. He missed chirping. He missed flirting. The promise of an after.

The game was fine. Not his best work, but he didn’t play as badly as he had while Shane was dating Rose. He could tell Shane wasn’t 100% in it either, but nothing that couldn’t be put down to it being one of the first games back; everyone was finding their rhythm again. Boston won, just. 4-3.

Shane texted him afterwards, the first text since their break-up conversation almost six months ago: Good game :)

Ilya took three hours to respond, typing and deleting messages, putting his phone away, repeat. Eventually he settled on: You too.

How creative. How boring.

…

Possibly emboldened by their first attempt at “friendship” (Ilya hated the word, because it definitely didn’t describe whatever they were to each other now), Shane started texting him again more regularly. Nowhere near their previous intensity, but once a month or so he’d get something like “Watching Hayden’s kids and the twins have insisted on giving me a full face of makeup. I don’t know if it’ll come off before the game tonight so be warned”. Or “My mom thinks the Admirals are winning the cup this year”. Like that, the messages veered between random personal stuff, and hockey – though mostly hockey. Ilya spent too long trying to parse hidden meanings and each time came up empty. “Looking forward to it. You’ve always looked pretty with makeup” he replied to the first one, before he could regret it. Shane angry reacted. The second one was easier, he shot something back about Hunter being a million years old. He felt annoyed at himself for enjoying these scraps of conversation so much. He wondered if he was still Lily in Shane’s phone.

…

At the end of the season, midway through 2018, the Admirals won the Stanley cup, and Scott Hunter pulled a man onto the ice and kissed him like no one was watching. Or maybe like everyone was watching. Watching the game, Ilya was momentarily too stunned to speak, and then, unfairly, annoyed. Why did Hunter get to have this moment? Why couldn’t he and Shane? He regretted that thought as soon as he had it. There was no he and Shane.

…

The next March, he got a text from Shane, who was still Jane in his phone. He wasn’t sure why he hadn’t changed it, since all their texts were boring now, and after two All Stars games where they’d been relatively friendly with each other, it wouldn’t be that weird to have each other’s numbers and talk from time to time. He didn’t want to think too hard about the reason that he was so attached to “Jane”.

Jane: Can I talk to you about something? It’s not anything serious, don’t worry. And it doesn’t really affect you, but I felt like I should tell you.

Ilya felt himself freeze up. It had to be that Shane was seeing someone, he couldn’t think of any other reason he’d text like that. Which was bound to happen. It had been almost two years since they’d last been together, what did he expect? He knew Shane didn’t do casual sex, not really, but he wasn’t a nun. Ilya didn’t own him. He’d let him go. He had no right to be panicking right now.

After fifteen minutes of pacing up and down, Ilya replied: Sure. What’s up?

The reply came instantly.

Jane: Are you busy right now? Could I maybe call you?

Shane was going to make Ilya live react to his new boyfriend? Maybe they really had been in different places two years ago and Shane was now that oblivious to how news like that would affect Ilya. An unsettling thought.

Ilya: Sure. Give me a second, I’ll call you?

“Jane” thumbs up reacted.

There wasn’t any actual reason to stall except that Ilya needed a second to stop panicking. He paced a bit more, then sat down on his couch and pressed the call button. Shane picked up after one ring.

“Hi Ilya.”

“Hello Shane.”

“Uh, how are you?” Shane began, sounding a bit too cheery.

“I’m fine. Just, you know.” Ilya gestured at the air, which was pointless on the phone. “How are you?”

“I’m, uh, I’m good.” Shane was making way too much of an effort to sound breezy and as a result sounded anything but. Ilya wished he would just get to the point. Mercifully, the next words out of his mouth were, “So, I wanted to talk to you about something.”

“Yes?”

“Um, so, a couple of months ago, after the All Stars game actually–” Ilya remembered that game. He and Shane had been on the same team again, he’d played the best hockey he had in months, and he’d almost been stupid enough to text Shane his room number after. Instead, he’d got drunk at the bar with the others and barely slept that night, wondering how close he was to Shane in the hotel.

Present Shane, on the phone, was continuing, “–I was back home in Ottawa for a few days. And I ended up, it was kind of a whim, I don’t really know what made me do it, I think I just decided it was time, but I came out to my parents. They know I’m gay.”

Ilya took a second to process that information. “How did they take it?”

“Really well, actually,” said Shane, sounding relieved, like he was reliving the moment. “They actually said they’d suspected it for a while, so it wasn’t as much of a shock to them as I’d feared. I guess when you’re almost 30 and you haven’t had a serious adult relationship it raises some questions.” He laughed self-deprecatingly.

“Hm.” Ilya wasn’t quite sure he knew what that would be like, a family caring enough to notice that kind of thing.

“Anyway, I’m not calling you to tell you that my parents know I’m gay.” Ilya’s heart sank. Here it is. I’m seeing someone. “I want you to know that I’ve made the decision to come out, publicly.”

“Oh,” was all Ilya could manage. He felt like his insides had dropped out of him.

In the background he could vaguely process Shane still talking. “You know my mom is also my manager. We had a few conversations after I came out to them. Not just manager-y ones. But she thinks it could actually be good. Maybe some of the brands I work with will even be pleased. Tick a box for diversity, you know, which is cynical but I guess that’s the game. Especially after what Scott Hunter did, I guess it’s opened a door and there’s an appetite for it. And some acceptance already, you know. And I’ve been seeing a therapist for a while, which, uh, has actually helped a lot. With the guilt and the fear and stuff. I realised you were right, that it wasn’t healthy for us to be hiding and pretending like we were. I think it had taken more of a toll than I let myself believe. But I realised even without that I was still hiding and pretending. I’m not… I can’t be with a woman. So for me, if I want any kind of relationship, I have to do this.” Shane paused, Ilya stayed silent. “I’ve already told a few teammates. Well, just Hayden and JJ. But they were supportive. Said they’d back me up, if I needed it, after. So, yeah. I feel good about it, I think. The press conference is scheduled for next week.”

Next week.

“Wow.” Ilya managed. “Wow, Shane. That’s… uh, that’s big. I’m happy for you.”

“Yeah.” Shane sounded full of nervous energy. He’d been talking a lot, which was rare for him. Ilya wondered if he was pacing up and down, then tried to stop himself picturing it. “I wanted to tell you because. Well, it doesn’t affect you, obviously, but it still felt like you should know it was coming. I don’t see how it could compromise you, or anything. We were so careful.” Ilya swallowed, realising he wished that this wasn’t true. Or that it didn’t have to be. Shane was going to be out and no one would ever know what they were to each other, the part he had played in it all. “I don’t even see there being a rumour. Apart from the weirdos who already ship us.” Shane laughed at that.

Ilya said, stupidly, “What is ship?”

“Oh, it’s like when fans want two people to be together. There’s like a weird subset of ‘Hollanov’ shippers online. Hayden told me about it actually, he thought it was the funniest thing ever, he showed me some of the Reddit threads. I guess it is funny, it kind of panicked me when he told me, but they don’t actually have any real evidence so it’s a lot of reaching and I don’t think many people take them seriously. Hayden definitely doesn’t. Anyway sorry, that’s not relevant here.”

“No, maybe not,” Ilya said, smiling despite himself. This was the longest conversation he’d had with Shane in two years. He’d forgotten how much Shane rambled when he was nervous. He loved it, it was so endearing. He hated that he loved it, but right now, maybe, he could also let himself enjoy it a little bit.

“But anyway. That’s it really. I just wanted to give you a heads up.”

“Thank you, I appreciate that. I hope it goes well.” Ilya wasn’t sure what else to say, what else he could trust himself to say.

“Thanks Ilya.” He thought he could hear Shane smile.

Then, because he had to, even though he hated himself for it, Ilya found himself asking, “There isn’t… anything else you wanted to tell me?”

“I don’t think so?”

“There’s not…” Ilya swallowed and felt his cheeks go a little red. “I mean…” God this was pathetic. “Are you seeing someone?”

Fuck.

There was a silence, then, quietly, “No Ilya, I’m not seeing anyone.”

Ilya felt helpless.

“But I guess… It has been hard to meet people, especially not being out. So maybe I am hoping this might make it easier. Going forward.”

Ilya wished he’d never said anything, but he forced himself to smile and say, “Yes, that makes sense.” Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added teasingly, “I’m sure all the boys will start throwing themselves at you after. You will not be able to go anywhere. Shane Hollander gay? It will be like superbowl.”

Shane laughed, evidently relieved. “I’m not sure about that. I hope not.”

“When they see how pretty you are AND that you are gay? No Shane, you will never be able to leave the house again.”

Shane laughed again. This felt better than the heaviness there had been before.

But then Shane went serious again: “I’m glad you’re taking it so well.”

“Why would I not?”

“I don’t know. I was worried, I guess, that it could be painful. Drag up old stuff. It’s really nice to be laughing with you about this.”

Why was Shane so painfully earnest sometimes? It made Ilya’s heart hurt with how much he loved him. Still loved him. Probably always would.

“Yes it is,” Ilya agreed. Then a breath. “I guess I should probably let you go now.”

“Yeah, uh.” Did Shane sound disappointed to be ending the call? Or was he imagining that because he was desperate to think that whatever he was feeling, Shane felt some of it too? “It was nice to talk to you, Ilya.”

“It was nice to talk to you too, Shane.”

…

Shane’s press conference went off without a hitch. He had always been very good with the media. He said all the right things about representation and inclusivity and wanting to be his authentic self. Ilya watched the whole thing. He seemed so self-assured, and somehow lighter. And he looked so good. Ilya had only been half-joking about the men who would be throwing themselves at Shane now. The thought made his stomach twist with jealousy.

Watching from the outside, the whole thing in fact seemed to go really well. The Metros released a statement of support across all their socials. His teammates reposted it, some of them adding their own messages. Scott Hunter added his own message of public support, put something up about how good it was to see the sport changing and how he hoped this would be impactful for future generations. Ilya had added his own comment to Shane’s post about it on Instagram, nothing too obvious, but enough to make it clear where he stood on the matter. Sure, there were assholes, but when weren’t there? It seemed like a drop in the ocean compared to the outpouring of positivity.

As well as commenting on Instagram, before he could think better of it, Ilya texted Shane: I’ve seen the news. You should be proud.

He regretted it immediately, but not enough to unsend it. Shane replied quickly anyway so it was a moot point: Thank you. It went so much better than I expected. I feel a massive weight off

Ilya didn’t reply, couldn’t think of anything to say that wouldn’t come across as pathetic.

…

Shortly after he came out, Shane started being pictured with men. Never any more confirmation than it had been with Rose Landry. Actually less, because he was never holding their hands or doing anything else obviously coupley. Maybe they were friends he’d been out and about with before, and people were only just paying attention. Or maybe he was going on dates. Ilya obsessively read news about it, seethed with jealousy, and wished he could do something about it.

The truth, of course, was that he could do something about it. Sometimes – often – he felt like he was never more than a bad night away from calling Shane and laying it all out there. I love you. I can’t do this anymore. Please be with me. I’ll do whatever it takes.

The thought still scared him, though. It scared him to be out, because Russia, because hockey. It scared him to be vulnerable with Shane, because what if he had moved on, or had never reached the same intensity with his feelings in the first place? Ilya knew Shane had felt deeply for him, but was it love? It scared him to think about a future, because that meant logistics and planning that he still, after almost two years of torturing himself with it, couldn’t figure out. They lived in different countries, hours away. They played for rival teams. He didn’t have citizenship yet. How could it ever work? It couldn’t.

…

Three months after Shane came out, June 2019, Ilya got a text.

Jane: I’ve been thinking about starting a charity. I was going to invite a few people to my cottage in Ottawa next month to talk about it. I wondered if you’d like to be involved.

The thought of going to see Shane terrified him. Even so, he found himself replying: What kind of charity?

Jane: A hockey one.

Ilya rolled his eyes.

Ilya: More specific please

Jane: Sorry! I was thinking maybe summer training camps for kids. But with a view to inclusivity. Hunter and I have actually been talking a bit about that kind of thing since I came out. We could raise money for scholarships. And maybe some other stuff as well. I’m working it out.

Oh you’ve been talking to Scott Hunter? Ilya was surprised at how jealous he felt. What was wrong with him? The man was probably too old to even have sex.

Ilya: Okay. That’s not a bad idea. Why do you want me involved?

Jane: You’re one of the best hockey players in the league. [Ilya smirked at one of the best. There were only two real contenders in that category as far as he was concerned.] You’d be a great person to have on board for getting it off the ground and maybe for doing some coaching? It could also be cool to counter the rivalry narrative a bit.

What did he mean by that last part? Ilya hated that he was still reading into everything Shane sent over text but he had to admit, even without trying to reach for deeper meaning, that was confusing. What would they need to counter the rivalry narrative for?

Ilya: Okay. I could be interested.

Shane: Great! I was going to have a lunch thing at my cottage to work out a proper pitch. My parents want to be involved. A few other players I’ve reached out to. Not everyone can make it, but a few of the Ottawa and Montreal players can, and Hunter’s in town for another event so had the time too. I wondered if you’d like to come. I know it’s a bit further for you, but I’ve got a few guest rooms, so you could stay for a day or two on either side, if you wanted.

Ilya was struggling to process this. Shane was inviting him to his cottage (just him? would anyone else be actually staying?) to discuss… a business proposition? They’d barely spoken in two years, the odd text here and there and that phone call three months ago. And now here he was with an invitation to go visit him properly.

Momentarily delusional, as he had repeatedly failed to stop himself being throughout the past couple years, Ilya wondered if this was a contrived excuse to see him. He had no doubt that Shane was really thinking about starting a charity and even that he wanted Ilya to be involved. But this was the definition of it could have been an email, no?

At the same time, he knew Shane and that things that seemed logical – no, necessary – to Shane sometimes made no sense to Ilya. Maybe this was just Shane-logic, that it would be better to talk about it in person. More persuasive for Ilya. Maybe it meant nothing more than that.

He must have been spiralling for a while because he was interrupted by another text.

Jane: You don’t have to decide now. I just wanted to offer. And I like hosting people, it wouldn’t be a bother.

Ilya couldn’t quite believe himself as he typed out, and sent: Okay. I’ll come. When should I book flights?

…

Shane had offered to pick Ilya up from the airport. Again, this was something Ilya had to force himself not to read into. He was mostly failing at that.

Shane had a very boring sensible car, which was bad, because it was endearing. Instead of saying that though, Ilya made a snarky comment and enjoyed seeing Shane get worked up defending the practicality of his choice.

The two-hour drive passed pleasantly if a little awkwardly. Shane pointed out local landmarks. Chatted about his experiences growing up in Ottawa. Playing hockey there. Described the cottage, architecturally, in an amount of detail that, even though Ilya knew Shane had actually designed it and had it built, still felt unnecessary. Told Ilya who was coming to lunch two days from now and about the food he was planning to make. Asked him how things were going in Boston. Didn’t mention a partner, Ilya noticed, although it had only been four months since he came out, so maybe that was to be expected. He’d been dreading a boyfriend reveal since March, convinced there was no way Shane could still be single, but there had been nothing more than occasional sightings with men. And now this.

“I have food for this evening,” Shane said, when they were about twenty minutes away. “I can make pasta. I got some wine, I don’t know if you drink wine? But I thought it could be nice. We haven’t seen each other off the ice in so long, it’ll be good to properly catch up.”

What did that mean??? Ilya didn’t dare to hope. Felt like an asshole for wanting to. At the same time, he dreaded that catching up meant Shane had life news to tell him. I’m seeing someone.

“I’ve made up the upstairs guest room for you. There’s no en-suite but the bathroom’s just down the hall and you’ll have it to yourself, because I do have an en-suite. So you’ll have privacy. If you need it.”

Shane was nervous-talking, Ilya realised. Which meant Shane was nervous. Again, he tried not to read into it, and failed.

…

Shane left Ilya to sort himself out once they arrived, saying he’d make a start on dinner. It was now early evening, around seven, and light was streaming in through the big windows, laying stripes across every room. Ilya had been there for barely half an hour and already felt more peaceful than he had in years.

Unpacked, Ilya had a quick shower, changed, and, bracing himself, went back downstairs. Shane was absorbed in cooking and didn’t notice when he first came in, so Ilya, despite his better judgement, let himself stand and watch for a moment, taking him in. Ilya had no idea what he was doing here – why Shane had asked him, why he had agreed.

Shane turned around, and smiled. “Dinner will probably be another half hour, I hope you’re not too hungry. Would you like a drink?”

Ilya nodded, and Shane poured out two glasses of wine, handing one to Ilya.

“We could sit outside for a bit if you want? I’ll need to check on the sauce but it mainly needs to reduce now.”

Ilya nodded again and Shane opened the door for him, onto a patio overlooking a garden overlooking a lake. They both took seats. It wasn’t uncomfortable – it was maybe too comfortable – but Ilya was hyper aware of all the things unsaid between them. On his part, but maybe also on Shane’s.

He was also, he admitted to himself, desperate to kiss him. Turns out that more than five minutes of proximity to Shane Hollander (Ilya was kidding himself that it took even that long) did absolutely horrible things to him.

Shane turned and smiled at him. “Don’t laugh at me, but this is really surreal. I’ve spent a really long time wondering what it would be like to have you here.”

Ilya did not know what to say to that, so he said, “Thank you for inviting me,” and his voice came out a little gravelly.

“It’s my pleasure,” Shane said warmly. “I’m really excited to walk you through what I’ve got so far on the charity stuff. I was so pleased you were interested.”

“I’m, uh, yes, it will be good to talk about it.”

Was that why he was here?

Shane went back inside before Ilya could be stupid enough to say that out loud, to press for answers he wasn’t sure existed. Ilya heard him starting to boil water for the pasta.

What was happening?

Ilya stayed sat outside while Shane cluttered about in the kitchen for fifteen minutes, and returned with two bowls of pasta alla vodka. “I used good Russian vodka,” he said a little sheepishly. “I hope you like it.”

Ilya wanted to say, I love it. You cooking for me like this. I love it maybe a little too much. I don’t even care what the food tastes like. What he actually said was, “Thank you. I’m sure I will.”

In fact, he barely registered the taste, although it was good. Impossible not to be when Shane followed a recipe like he would be arrested for diverging from it. Ilya was too consumed by mounting panic, panic prompted, ironically, by how easy it was to be here, how natural it felt. What am I doing here?

After dinner, Shane took the plates inside to clean up and returned with fresh wine and two blankets, one of which he offered to Ilya. It wasn’t cold out, but it was nice to have something to throw over his legs.

They sat side by side for a while like that, not saying anything. The sun dipped lower and lower in the sky.

…

When Shane next spoke, his voice was softer. “Have you ever thought about leaving Boston?”

This was all weird enough already that Ilya thought nothing could actually surprise him, but he was taken aback by that question, and not sure what exactly Shane was fishing for. “I don’t know.” He liked his team. The city was fine. He liked not being in Russia.

“The Ottawa Centaurs have been a pretty bad team for a while,” Shane said slowly. “But they’ve got some new acquisitions recently that are pretty interesting.”

“Oh?” Ilya was confused by the direction of the conversation.

“I think they could get a lot better. And they need a star center.” Shane looked directly at him.

“You think I should transfer to Ottawa?” Ilya couldn’t help sounding confused.

“They’d be able to afford you. And I think Canada can be an easier route to citizenship than America – I know that’s something you were thinking about before.”

Ilya was more confused than ever. “Yes, I would like to have citizenship.”

“It could be a good option for you. Ottawa, I mean. Just something to think about, I guess.”

Just something to think about. Okay. Normal conversation.

“Anyway, it’s getting late,” Shane said abruptly, and stood up. It was about 9.30pm, barely half an hour after sunset. Not Ilya’s definition of late. “I should shower and go to bed. You’re free to stay up, if you want. I left some towels on your bed, you probably saw. I mean, you showered, so I think you saw.” He trailed off. “Goodnight Ilya.”

Ilya was too stunned to say goodnight back, and Shane was already heading inside before he had the chance to get the words out. What had just happened?

…

He had stayed outside for another hour, or thereabouts, just sitting and staring into the darkness. He smoked a cigarette, though he felt guilty about doing it on Shane’s property, like he was transgressing somehow. When he saw Shane’s light go out, signalling that he had gone to bed, he called Svetlana. They spoke in Russian, anyway, so it’s not like Shane could’ve understood even if he did overhear, but Ilya felt antsy about it nonetheless.

Sveta picked up after a few rings. “Ilyusha, how are you? Did you make it okay?”

He had told her that he was going to Ottawa, and she’d looked at him knowingly, but not said anything, letting him pretend to her that it was just a business trip.

“I’m fine, the flight was fine.” He braced himself and decided he needed to just be honest with her. He was pretty sure she knew everything anyway. “This is really fucking weird, Sveta. He made me dinner and then basically told me to move to Ottawa. I don’t know what the fuck he wants from me or what I’m doing here.”

Sveta made a noise he couldn’t quite parse. “Maybe he wants you to move to Ottawa,” she said eventually. He thought she might be making fun of him.

“Why would he want that?” Ilya said, exasperated.

“Maybe he misses you,” she said. “Or,” because like Shane, she rarely passed on the excuse to turn a conversation to hockey, “he knows they need a star center and have the money to pay you to be it.”

“That’s exactly what Shane said.”

“Well he’s right.” She clicked her tongue. “Actually I think he’s really onto something. That could be a very good move for you. In more ways than one.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“You know what I mean Ilyusha.” He could picture the look on her face, staring at him, eyebrows raised slightly, maybe even a hand on her hip.

“I don’t know if it would change anything. Apart from the citizenship thing, maybe, that might be easier. But we’d still be on rival teams. And I have no idea if that’s even what he wants, or is driving at. Maybe he’s just being Shane. Obsessing about hockey. You just said it might be a good move for me. Maybe that’s all it was, he’s thought the same thing.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Because Shane Hollander definitely spends his free time thinking about what’s best for other hockey players' careers.”

Ilya sighed. “I don’t want to let myself think it could be about anything else.”

Her tone was sympathetic when she said, “I know. I know this is scary for you.”

Despite having basically just admitted that, Ilya wanted to protest, but he stopped himself. “I don’t know what to do with it if it is… about more. I’ve never known what to do with this.”

“Why don’t you try just talking to him?” she suggested.

“What would I even say?”

“I don’t know,” she laughed. “That you’re stupidly in love with him and have spent the last two years being so pathetic about it you are boring your friends? I love you but you are a little ridiculous.”

Ilya wanted to argue, again, but he didn’t. He’d called her for this, hadn’t he?

So he just said, “I love you too. Thank you for putting up with me.”

“It’s nothing,” she said. “You’d do the same for me. But I am getting fed up now. Go get your man!” There was a pause. “I have to go now, but I really do love you. And I am here for you. Call me again tomorrow, if you need.”

“I will. Goodnight Sveta.”

“Goodnight.”

…

Ilya emerged the next morning to the smell of toast and coffee and the sound of eggs frying. Shane was in an unnervingly good mood, greeting him with a grin and a “Good morning! Did you sleep well?”

“Yes, the bed is very comfy. Thank you.” Ilya pulled up a stool to the kitchen island and perched there, watching Shane finish off the eggs.

“I made us breakfast,” Shane said, unnecessarily.

“I can see that.” Ilya smiled despite himself.

“I was thinking we could go for a walk today, if you wanted. There’s some nice woodland around here. Or a lakeside trail not too far away. I need to do a bit of prep stuff for tomorrow, but I’m free other than that.”

“That would be nice.”

“Great!” Shane was grinning again. It was bizarre, but nice. He plated up the eggs, toast, and a bit of avocado, and handed it to Ilya with a coffee. “I don’t know how you like it,” he said, at the same time as Ilya realised this was the first time they’d ever hung out in the morning. The first time they’d ever woken up together, kind of, even if it wasn’t in the same bed.

“Black is good,” Ilya said.

“Good,” Shane repeated.

They ate in comfortable silence.

“Sorry if I sprung the Ottawa thing on you yesterday, by the way,” Shane said. “I realise it probably seemed way too forward.”

“Maybe a bit,” Ilya said, but he hoped his tone said that he didn’t mind. “What made you think about it?”

“I’ve actually been in touch with one of their players. Troy Barrett? About the charity. And also about, uh, sexuality stuff.”

Ilya felt lightheaded. After his conversation with Sveta last night, he’d persuaded himself that he wasn’t reading into things, that he was going to try and talk to Shane today, somehow, about them. But what if he had totally misread things? What if there was already another guy?

“Obviously don’t tell anyone,” Shane added. “But I trust you, and obviously, you’ve been there too, so I know you’ll be good with this. Barrett reached out to me after I came out. Anonymously at first, actually, but then we got in touch properly. He’s in the closet, but he doesn’t want to be. I mean he wants to be out. He was asking me about it. How I’d found it, what made me do it, how I’d prepared for it. We’ve sort of become friends, I think. And he’s probably going to come on board with the charity stuff. He’ll be there tomorrow.”

Ilya just looked at him, trying not to fixate on the word “friends”.

“Anyway, we’ve been talking about the team dynamics, and about Ottawa. The Centaurs. I think Barrett was frustrated at first to be transferred there, but he’s starting to like it a lot. They seem like a good team. Good people, I mean, I think they’ll be accepting of him if and when he’s ready to come out. But also like there’s potential there. So it got me thinking about things. And the idea occurred to me. That it could be a good move for you.”

“That makes sense,” Ilya said, even though he thought it only partly did. Was this why Shane had asked him to come here? So he could pitch Ottawa to him?

“But maybe I shouldn’t have just sprung it onto you last night,” Shane said. “I’ve been thinking about it for a few weeks, so it seemed logical to me. But I realise it must have been a surprise.”

“It was a bit,” Ilya admitted. “But not a bad one.” He decided to try being a bit more open. “I talked to Sveta last night. Svetlana.” He hoped Shane remembered who she was. “She agrees with you, actually.”

An almost imperceptible look passed over Shane’s face. Ilya thought (hoped) it might be jealousy. His face quickly returned to neutrality, though, and he said, “Well maybe you should listen to her.”

“I might,” Ilya said, not sure why he was so ready to agree to this plan that had been made about him. He felt as if Shane and Sveta were co-conspirators somehow, despite having never met. He thought they would probably get on, although he could imagine Shane being weird about it at first, and actually Sveta probably being weird about it too, except in her case because she knew way too much about him and was way too interested in meeting him already.

“I’m still sorry for springing it on you though,” Shane said. “You looked a bit freaked out last night.”

Ilya was surprised he had been that easy to read. “I guess I just didn’t know what to make of it.”

“Yeah.” Shane took a breath. “This is strange, isn’t it? Being here, like this, together?”

They were having the conversation now? At – Ilya checked the clock on the wall – 9.36am.

“Very strange,” he agreed.

“I was actually surprised you agreed to come,” Shane said. “I thought I was being crazy by inviting you.”

“Why did you invite me?” Ilya asked, before he could overthink it.

“I wanted to see you,” Shane said, as if that was the simplest thing in the world. “And I do really want you to be involved with this charity thing,” he added. “I actually first started thinking about it two years ago. When I was trying to come up with ways for us to be together.”

That felt like a gut punch. “When you were what?”

Shane looked a bit guilty. “Yeah. After we… broke up, I guess. Is it weird to call it a break up? After we broke up, even though I saw the logic in what you were saying, I found it difficult to accept it. And I guess my coping mechanism was planning. Trying to find a way to make what you said not true. I had this idea – well, actually, I’d been thinking about doing a charity thing for a while, but kind of abstractly – but this idea that it would maybe give us an excuse to spend more time together. And to put the rivalry thing to bed, a bit.” He paused. “It took a while to turn into something more concrete though. Then Hunter came out. And it sort of came to me fully formed, not long after that. I’ve spent the last half year or so workshopping it. I reached out to Hunter privately in the autumn, to let him know that I was, well, gay, and that I was thinking of doing this. I know you hate him, but he’s been really supportive, actually.”

“I don’t hate him,” Ilya said stupidly.

“I know that really,” Shane said. “Anyway. I’ve been working on making it happen since then.”

And now this.

“So you want me to transfer to Ottawa,” Ilya said slowly. “And help build this charity thing with you.”

“Yes,” said Shane. “I know it’s… is this a bit intense?”

“Maybe,” Ilya laughed. “You don’t do things by halves.” Then, feeling emboldened, he added, “I like it.”

They were sat on opposite sides of the kitchen island, not quite directly across from each other. Ilya wanted to reach over and kiss Shane. He was pretty sure that was what Shane wanted too, but he couldn’t quite convince himself to do it. He felt frozen in place, the whole thing felt too surreal. He was pretty sure the subtext of all of this was: I want to be with you, let’s get back together. Why couldn’t either of them actually say it?

Instead, Shane cleared the plates away, and Ilya got up to help, looking for an excuse to be closer to him. They stood side by side, Shane washing up, Ilya drying.

Then, halfway done, and not looking up from the sink, Shane said, almost to himself, “The thing I really want to say is, two years of therapy and coming out and trying to date other people hasn’t changed how I feel about you. I haven’t been able to stop obsessing about how to make us work. And, finally, I feel like I’ve maybe figured it out. And I want to know if that’s something you would want, too.” He still wasn’t looking up. “Because I’m in love with you.”

“Fuck, Hollander.” Ilya was momentarily too stunned to say anything else, but somehow he found the words to say, “I’m so fucking in love with you.”

That was the last thing either of them said for a while.